


Beginnings

by Theonewithmanynames



Series: Egos Manor [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Blind Character, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dimension Travel, Drinking, Eye Trauma, Feral Behavior, Genderfluid Darkiplier, Headcanon, Hemophilia, Insanity, Kidnapping, Multi, Murder, Poisoning, Prophetic Visions, Reality Bending, Sadism, Trans Ayano, Tulpas, magick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonewithmanynames/pseuds/Theonewithmanynames
Summary: How did the Egos end up at the Manor?
Relationships: Dark & The Host, Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache, Dr. Iplier/The Host, Wilford Warfstache & Ayano
Series: Egos Manor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664224
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57





	1. Ayano

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076533) by [SML8180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SML8180/pseuds/SML8180). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil meets a teenager covered in blood and immediately adopts them.

Wil was having a great morning; he had found some nightshade berries on one of his wanderings, and decided to bring a basketful back to the Manor. They were like blueberries but better, because they made the world swirly on the edges. Maybe he'd make some muffins, but honestly he probably won't have enough the way he couldn't help snacking on them.

That, and he offered handfuls to anyone he crossed paths with on his way back. What can he say, he's a generous guy. The madman was stopped by a couple of uniformed police officers about the berries, but when he offered them some, they arrested him! Unbelievable, that's no way to treat your neighbors.

He was brought to the police station again, where they took away his basket of berries, bowtie, suspenders, and shoelaces, and pushed him into a holding cell across from one that held a small figure. Much too small a figure, he realized, and poofed closer to investigate like the journalist he was.

A young teen with chin length black hair sat in a school uniform splattered with blood, sobbing and trying to wipe the flaking red on their hands off with their skirt.

"Hey," Wil knelt next to them comfortingly, "shouldn't a youngster like you be in class?"

The student gave him an odd look, but they at least stopped crying.

"I'm Wilford," he introduced himself, hoping that would put them more at ease, "are you okay? Are your parents coming soon?"

"My parents won't be coming," they murmured, "I hurt a classmate real bad, and when I called my mom she said she wasn't coming."

"Well, what'd this kid do that made you hurt them?" Wil asked, and the teen gave him more of that look, like they had never had anyone give them this kind of attention unprompted before, and they weren't entirely sure what to do.

"He… he said I was a… a faggot whore, and… then he gropped my chest, so I- I stabbed him with my compass, and I didn't stop until the teacher pulled me off."

"Seems reasonable," the madman responded, and the younger giggled weakly, wiping away the last of their tears.

"I like your hair," they whispered, "I always wanted to dye my hair but my parents never let me, even though my classmates have their’s all different colors."

The pink-haired man laughed loudly, drawing the attention of a few officers near the holding cells, who seemed alarmed to find Wil had moved.

"What do you say we get out of here?" Wil asked, offering his hand.

"Really?" 

The mustached man just smiled kindly, and when the other took his hand, they suddenly found themselves on the front step of the Manor.

"You ever need a place to stay, you can come here," Wil offered, "my partner wouldn't mind, and I'm sure the others would love you."

"Um, could I maybe… meet them?"

Wilford just beamed, more than happy to introduce the student to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, Yan, you're still covered in blood-


	2. Tulpa, Part 1; King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark finally find a lead on Mark: two Tupla living in the woods.

After Wil introduced them to the basics of inter-reality travel, Dark’s search radius grew incredibly, but they were finally one step closer to their goal. Still, it took them forty years to find anything more than false alarms.

(It didn’t matter; they had an eternity.)

In a reality not too dissimilar to their own, in a cabin not dissimilar to the one Damien spent so much time in, they found a man that looked rather like a younger Mark, with the power to rewrite reality to a degree - and a small bit of omniscience, Dark discovered when their attempt to investigate was quickly interrupted.

“Another one?” the man asked himself, stepping out on his porch and observing the other’s aura blurring into the surrounding shadows, “He’s burning through characters faster than I am.”

“And who exactly would you be?”

“I am known simply as the Author,” he told the monochrome being, “And you may not believe me, but we are Tulpa - stories come to life.”

Dark was familiar with Tulpa, and found it extremely unlikely that they themself were one, as the sheer amount of energy it would take to create an entire separate reality just for an origin story was a little beyond even what the power of belief could accomplish. 

But if this Author thought that, it could be beneficial to go along with it, at least for the time being.

“Then convince me,” they said, “what proof do you have?”

The man gave a long, sharp whistle, and Dark tensed ever so slightly for a minute before a new person emerged into the clearing.

“I’m King of the Squirrels,” the newcomer introduced immediately. Peanut butter was smeared into a beard shape on his face, indeed looking very much like Mark used to, and they watched bewildered as a grey squirrel scurried out from his ratted T-Shirt to sit on his shoulder.

“King was here before me,” the Author told them, “probably a first attempt, seeing as his character isn’t all that fleshed out.”

The writer pulled a little pocket book out, quickly scribbling out a few words and mumbling to himself, and Dark felt the fabric of reality around them ripple a bit before a jar of peanut butter rolled down the porch steps. King snatched it up and immediately began applying a thicker layer to his face. 

It was just so stupid, it had to be true.

“Are there any others?” Dark asked the Author, hoping for something more a little practical than ‘feral man’.

“A couple of months ago, a Dr. Edward Iplier appeared out of thin air.”

A doctor? That could be very helpful, if he was competent.

“And do you expect many more?” the monochrome being inquired.

“If this pace keeps up?” the Author responded, “Quite a few.”

While having a bunch of lookalikes running around would certainly make finding Mark harder, they could prove to be valuable allies. The Author’s abilities were powerful; but he also had a manipulative streak and a penchant for sadism that made Dark reluctant to trust him.

For now, they would bring the two to the Manor, send Wil to fetch this doctor character, and tag this reality for a more thorough search later. Finding the template for these Tulpa would be their top priority.


	3. Tulpa, Interlude; Dr. Iplier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark sends Wil to fetch a Dr. Edward Iplier.

Edward glanced to the stack of complaints on the corner of his desk, sighing deeply and lowering his forehead to its surface. If they keep coming in at this rate, he would be run out of the hospital before he had even been working here three months. The only reason he had got away with as much as he had was because they were critically understaffed. It might be wise to start searching for another job for when he would inevitably be fired.

“Excuse me,” a voice called, and he looked up to find a man with a pink mustache in his office, “Are you Dr. Iplier?”

“Yes, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” the doctor acknowledged, berating himself for forgetting to lock the door, “What do you need?”

“My partner asked me to get you,” the strange man replied.

Ugh, just what he needed right now; patient’s loved ones always liked to complain about his ‘rude behavior’ and ‘lack of manners’.

“Right,” Edward said, trying to figure out which room to go to, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing the mustached man in the hospital before, “Take me to them.”  
“Perfect!” the man exclaimed, and snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, the world seemed to spin upside down, and the doctor found that they both were now inside the foyer of a rather expensive house.

“What the…?”

“Right this way!” the mustached man proclaimed, before disappearing further into the building.

Was he just kidnapped? By some sort of reality bending _madman???_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Edward...


	4. Tupla, Part 2; The Author//The Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Author became the Host - and how Dark and the Host developed such a close relationship.

After a couple of months at the Manor, Dark began to leave the new residents alone for short periods of time while the head of house left to search for the Tulpa’s creator. 

The Author spent a lot of his time in the library, so much so that he claimed the bedroom across the hall from it’s top wing. Dr. Iplier was setting up a clinic on the first floor, and was only sleeping for short periods of time on a cot in it’s backroom. King was practically living in the backwoods, befriending the wildlife and only returning to raid the kitchen for food (mainly peanut butter for his squirrels - he was foraging a lot of his own meals).

This newfound freedom would prove to be a mistake shortly, when on August 20th, Dark returned to the Manor and discovered that the Author had attempted to tap into the forces of the house to make himself more powerful.

(His eyes now glowed an uncanny shade of gold.)

“What were you thinking?!” the monochrome being screamed at the man in the clinic’s only bed, “You’re lucky you got to keep your body.”

Suddenly, he broke out into loud, hysterical laughter, and Dark became aware of the fact that the man may have kept his body, but he probably lost his sanity. 

“The Author’s story has ended,” the gold-eyed man claimed, “He will not live through this.”

Everybody in the room was chilled by the words.

The next few days were worse. The Author kept babbling what could only be described as prophecies, as well as what most would say was nonsense but Dark knew to be scenes of the Manor’s past.

It seems as if the man had gotten his wish; his previously mild Sight was now near total omniscience, and it was overwhelming him. Some of his hair was turning gold from the power overflow.

It all came to a head when the Author ripped his own eyes out, and Dr. Iplier was only able to stop the bleeding with artificial coagulants. Apparently, the once golden-eyed man had hemophilia. It seemed more and more likely that the prophecy he gave on that first day would come true - that he wouldn’t survive this.

It all reminded Dark far too much of Wil’s worst episodes. The monochrome being made it a habit to check up on the Author every week, and if no one else was around, to sit with the man for a while.

Eventually, he seemed to improve. He still muttered under his breath, spoke in the third person, and would occasionally break out into hysterical laughter or sobbing, but he had short moments of lucidity that got longer as time went on.

He started referring to himself as the Host.

(Technically, the Author didn’t survive, they would later come to realize.)

He also began to offer his insights into the future to Dark, seemingly as thanks for spending their time with him. This was admittedly helpful, though Wil was still able to elude his Sight somewhat. As a result, they got pretty close with the prophet - though not as close as the man got with Dr. Iplier, if what the head of house saw on more than one occasion said anything.

Even when the blind man moved back into the Author’s room, with Dr. Iplier ‘for monitoring’ (yeah, right), they still continued their weekly talks with him. It was good for them to have something routine, especially in the winter months.

And since the Host knew almost everything anyway, Dark saw no point in attempting to hide anything from him, and would show up in states that normally only their husband would see them in - male or female form, cane or not. The blind man didn’t mind if they were still in yesterday’s clothes because they had stayed up playing piano until four A.M. the night before; they had both seen each other in much worse states. Before the monochrome being knew it, the prophet became a confidant to them.

And when he was stable enough, the two began to train his abilities by attempting to use his Sight to look for specific information. The Host quickly found a way to cheat by looking forward to See what the two would be discussing that week, and started amusing himself by hiding symbolism in the tea, but as that technically accomplished the point of the exercises, it was allowed.

The blind man quickly got very good at looking into the near future, and proceeded to use his Sight to ‘see’ by narrating his surroundings. He found he could now bend reality simply by speaking, just as the Author was able to with his writing, and started a radio show ‘telling horror stories’ to fulfill his sadistic trickster urges.

One day, in early April, the Host finally explained to Dark what had happened over seven months ago: 

Mark released a sequel to the Author’s story where he implied the man died. When the writer felt himself fading, he rushed to grant himself the power to allow his survival. He was able to do so by ‘rewriting’ his own character, causing him to slowly change into the Host. Finally, by narrating images of his new characterization into his home reality - on April Fools, so that even if Mark deleted them, his followers would immortalize them - his form was able to stabilize.

Dark was rather impressed.

Perhaps it was time for them to step up their game.


	5. Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wifi was down all day today, so I did a shit ton of writing for this series!
> 
> This was the only thing I finished.

After Damien dragged himself out of the cabin, his first order of business was figuring out where the fuck he was. 

Which had a bit of a complex answer, as it turns out. The cabin was a dream, shared between Celine and him; every time she went out hunting, and he went to bed, she had actually been waking up.

So that's what he did - and he found himself in a motel room. 

He could feel his sister's presence behind him, as if he could turn around and find her there, but… quiet. It reminded him of when they were very young, and would sneak into each other's rooms at night to cuddle together.

Well, she did say she was tired. And based on how sore his neck and shoulders were, she had probably been working this body they were now sharing into the ground (haha).

He cleaned up best he could (he looked like he really had just spent God knows how long in the woods, but if this body changed based on his own perception, he figured, he could look however he wanted as long as he could hold that image in his head; might be interesting to experiment with later.) and packed up everything that he thought didn't belong. 

Celine's luggage contained a variety of clothes and accessories, both male and female (she had almost certainly figured out how to shapeshift then, the clever witch), and a journal. 

When he flipped through it, he found it was absolutely crammed full of newspaper clippings, interviews, and spells. It was obviously all of his sister's efforts to find Mark.

Just how long has she been searching for?

The newspapers on the table were all dated 1973. Fifty years since Poker Night. He ignored the small bit of betrayal he felt at being kept asleep so long - Celine has always wanted to do everything herself.

He combed through the journal and all the newspapers - while he didn't study the occult as extensively as his sister, he had dipped his toes into it in college, when she first started, so he understood most of it. Still, there was no loose thread for him to follow. There was a single passage Celine had written about Dreamwalking, but it was more focused on their own shared dreamscape, which she theorized was actually the DA's creation.

So how did Mark get in? 

Damien dragged his hand down his face. He'd have to hit the books, start from the beginning. Celine would be asleep for a while, he should use the time to get caught up.

May as well go back to the very beginning then, and return to the Manor.

After all, unlike Celine, who's anger burned hot and fast, he could be patient.

Cold and waiting, like the winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: Should I put these in order?


	6. Wilford

They spent so many years looking for Mark, it should have occurred to them sooner than this that there was a possibility of stumbling across one of the others that were in the Manor that fateful night. Their discovery of the Jims had proven to them that anyone exposed to that magick shockwave was rendered basically immortal, and yet… They never could have anticipated this.

Across the room, a man who wore the face of the Colonel danced without a care in the world, and Dark’s glamour flickered for a second before they forcibly calmed it. They were still new to the whole co-consciousness thing they were trying, and conflicting emotions could cause problems, so they took a moment to reorient themselves.

They were using one of Damien’s newer forms, with his longer hair and full beard, and hiding their aura to disappear into the crowd. They had sensed someone using magick that felt far too much like the Entity’s and came here to investigate. The twins had both thought it was Mark at first, but as the man pulled another drink out of thin air, there was no mistaking it. 

Neither of them had seen the Colonel since he stumbled out of the Manor after seeing the District Attorney get up, about 50 years ago now. Celine had done some tepid searching for the man early on, in between following leads on Mark, reasoning that the actor might also attempt to find him, but turned up nothing. It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth.

His moustache had little pink tips now…

Focus - first things first, information gathering. Determine who is likely to have relevant knowledge, and start a casual conversation. Open with an intelligent and respectful demeanor, before increasing emotional leverage by acting more familiar than warranted. 

(Damien learned early on in his political career that acting friendly was the best way to get someone to do what you want.)

A glass of wine and a few conversations later, Dark has discovered two very important facts; first, that the Colonel is now going by Wilford Warfstache, and second, while people were seeing him use magick to do things like teleport across the room and create martinis from nothing, nobody found this strange. In fact, everybody they spoke to had this haze of madness in their eyes that had to be an effect of the man’s aura.

In that case, no point hiding their own. 

The monochrome being was surprised to find that even when they relaxed their aura out fully, it didn't stray nearly as far as it usually liked to. Was it competing for space with the madman's? They could see his aura now where it touched their own, swirling bubblegum pink and sickly yellow, but it didn't press - in fact, it was… soft, like cotton candy and just as sticky.

They were going to need another drink for this. At least the wine here was acceptable.

“And who might _you_ be?”

They whirled around and both panicked a bit at Wilford catching them before the tone registered. Was he… _flirting???_ Did he really not recognize the face they were currently wearing?

Ah, right, flirting - they could do flirting, right? That’s just being friendly and familiar with more eye contact.

“You can call me Dark.”

“In that case, call me Wilford,” he said, sliding into the barstool next to them. There was no hesitation in giving that new name, and his body language gave no indication that he was lying. He truly was someone else now… 

Still, they could see the Colonel in Warfstache. Perhaps he is only as dead as they themselves are; shattered and clumsily glued together with pieces missing, but with his mind rather than his soul.

They could do this; acting friendly and familiar with someone who used to be an actual friend to them both should be easy.

“Wil, then.”

“Say, my memory's not so great, but I feel like we’ve met somewhere before…”

Shit, maybe that was _too_ familiar. Quick, redirect him with vague and ominous language.

"I am no longer that person, just as you are no longer who I knew you as, though I suppose it was only a matter of time before we saw each other again."

"You mean like soulmates!?"

… Was this man serious? They knew that the Colonel had dropped a few marbles on his way out the door, in addition to being a few less to begin with, but this… Wilford Warfstache was a single marble pinging around in a jar, not following any known laws of physics.

Still, perhaps that could help them; the mad tended to be more loose-lipped, and could sometimes provide incredible insights if you are able to decipher what they are saying. It didn’t seem like they’d have to worry that much about being recognized either.

“Something like that. I couldn’t find you for so long, I almost gave up,” the manipulator told him, borderline seductive, “where have you been?”

“Traveling!” Wilford answered enthusiastically, “with such infinite realities in front of me, I find it rather hard to stay still!”

Infinite… realities? Like the multiverse theory?? He could cross universes??? Could _they???_

They needed more time to process this; if those that were affected by that night in the Manor had the ability to traverse across entire universes… this expanded their search radius effectively endlessly.

“How about you join me at my place,” Dark muttered softly, mind racing, “you can tell me all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark: *tries to be suave and intelligent*  
> Wil: *is insane*  
> Dark: pardon me but what the fuck


	7. Jackieboy Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little something to get started with the Septic Bois

Jackieboy Man was the oldest of the Septics.

(The oldest that lived, anyways.)

He doesn't remember the exact moment he came into being, but the entire day was seared into his memory, and he'd often play it back, second by second, futilely attempting to find some sort of break in continuity, some sign that everything before that instant was fabricated.

He left his apartment late that morning, more tired than normal but unsurprised by it given how long his patrol the night before went. He wanted nothing more than to sleep in, but there was basically no food left in his apartment, and being a superhero was very calorie demanding work. 

Also, poorly paying, he thought, staring down the corner store’s selection of nuts, trying to decide if he could splurge and buy some almonds, or if he should just get peanuts like he usually did.

“Jack!” Somebody called, and he reflexively raised his head to look, even as he registered that they sounded excited and not scared. A young woman, probably in her mid-to-late teens, beamed at him, even as who must have been her mother lingered awkwardly several paces back. “Sorry to bother you while you’re shopping, but I love your videos, and was wondering if I could get a quick photo?”

Now, he had no idea what she was talking about, but agreed to take a picture with her. He finished with his groceries without any more interruptions, but spotted a couple more people visibly recognizing him. By the time he got back to his apartment he was practically shaking - was his identity somehow revealed?!

But a quick web search of his hero name brought up, instead of news stories exposing his face, a recent video by a YouTube channel called Jacksepticeye, titled “Jackieboy Man Returns | Welcome To The Game #2”.

_‘What the fuck is this?’_ was all he could think, watching a face that looked almost-not-quite like his, dress up in a cheap version of his costume - not unlike what he first wore before he smartened up and got some proper armor - and play a video game. 

He would have written it off as a fan if it weren’t for the fact that it was the _only_ thing his search turned up. In fact, scrolling through the guy’s channel, you’d think the hero was the one impersonating him. He spent hours scouring the internet, even dipping into the deep web, attempting to find _something_ , some sort of a trail, but there was just _nothing._ He was so desperate, at one point he even pulled his identification papers out of the fire safe in his closet, only to find that - while they appeared convincing - when he looked up the numbers, they belonged to several different people, none of which were him. 

For all intents and purposes, he didn't exist. This world didn't know him.

So he stopped patrolling (okay, so maybe he beat up a couple of rapists, but can you blame him?), cautiously went about his civilian routine, and saved as much money as he could, just keeping his head down until he could find an explanation to whatever the fuck was going on.

About a month later, he was approached by a magician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question: would anyone be interested in a discord server, to come chat with me/each other about this fic?


	8. Marvin the Magnificent

When Marvin first came into being, he knew immediately that something was wrong. 

There was the clinging residue of magick in the air, but he didn't remember using any. He didn't remember several important details, he found, including his own name.

The only name that came to mind was Jack, but it didn't… feel right. It didn't feel like it was his.

His first thought was that it was some sort of hex, but he had sigils to prevent that sort of thing, and the magick hanging in the air didn't taste malicious; it seemed almost… neutral.

Trying to trace a source for it was impossible, it was like there were a thousand threads coming from every direction, each dripping power into him, like a leaky faucet: completely subconscious.

So either a stupidly large amount of people simultaneously decided - unknowingly - that it would be funny if he forgot key details of his life, or… 

There was a reason faith was a major component of most religions; it had the power to do incredible things. Given a large enough audience, and the right catalyst, just the suspension of disbelief of a story could make the characters literally come to life. 

Okay, so, he was a Tulpa. 

Question one, who was his… template?

He started with the only name he knew, and it took a while, but eventually he found the YouTube channel of one Jacksepticeye.

Jack looked a lot like him, as was to be expected, but with several differences, like slightly shorter hair, and a rounder eye and face shape. Everything was just slightly off - really the only feature they both shared was the jawline.

(He avoided watching the video that birthed him; it was highly likely it would unnerve him, seeing a man who looked so much like him pretend to be him. It would either feel like an impersonator - or like he was some sort of puppet.)

Question two, was he the only Tulpa the YouTuber had created?

There was no lacking in characters the man played - 'Jack', too, was a persona put on for the camera - if Seán McLoughlin had whatever spark was necessary, it was possible that the magician was not his first Tulpa, or at the least, wouldn't be the last.

So he started dowsing.

Perhaps it was curiosity, or perhaps it was the simple desire to not be alone in his existence, but if he could track down another, perhaps they could answer his final question:

Is Jack aware of them?

_Well,_ he thought, after finding another being that dripped of magick, surprisingly close to where he resided, _I guess I’m about to find out._


End file.
